


We're Stuck Together

by BookishTea



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Christmas Shopping, Domestic Fluff, Friendship/Love, Holiday, Multi, Polyamory, Subtle Monarch/Rusty, Venture Bros Secret Santa, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/pseuds/BookishTea
Summary: Nothing brings family together like last minute Christmas shopping.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [21derful (EssGee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssGee/gifts).



New York, a city of endless possibilities. Made from the harsh grey lines of towering buildings, and skies blanketed thickly with smoke. To live there was to bask in power, unattainable to most.

It was a good thing that the Monarch wasn’t like anyone else. Maybe it was the old blood coursing through his veins, a lineage of elite socialites he bore on his winged shoulders. Regardless, elegance always seemed to come naturally to hi–

“Shit!”

His curse was overwhelmed by the sound of screeching tires and an engine roaring with the scent of exhaust fumes. They both found themselves choking on it, mouths dry like cotton.

“Press harder!”

“It’s no use, we’re stuck!”

The Monarch angrily leaned back, arms crossed. “Well, this is just  _great!_ ”

That’s it, he’s screwed. His wife was going to kill him, and all because some useless drone couldn’t properly plow the road. Already he’d been in hot water with her, making flimsy excuses for his absences. It was obvious that she’d been feeling left out, that while she worked around the clock as a Guild council member that the Monarch had been goofing off with their sole henchman. Little did she know that he’d been systematically climbing his way up the ladder of success, hunger increasing at the short distance of his prize - for his… for  _their_ arching rights to Dr. Thaddeus S. Venture.

With an exasperated sigh Gary released the gas, in a final attempt putting the car in reverse.

“I knew we should have brought the Morphomobile!”

“And do what? We’re supposed to be laying low!”

The Monarch refused to respond, gaze narrowed as he sunk further into his seat. Silence between them lingered, near suffocating as the wheels pathetically grated across a sheet of ice. Swearing under his breath, Gary switched the gear to park. Remaining wordless as he unbuckled his belt, and opened the door without a glance towards his leader.

A gust of wind slid inside; frigid it chilled the interior of the vehicle. It left its inhabitant to shiver in his impossibly intimidating and skin-tight costume, helpless to endure. While the sleek black fabric was pleasantly slimming, it did nothing for keeping in the Monarch’s body heat. He had refused one of his old pre-villain winter coats out of sheer principle, one always had to be prepared for spontaneous arching. Especially since Rusty Venture had taken to flaunting himself and his new-found money on the streets, at the thought of the inept super scientist his gloved hands balled.

Gary slammed the door behind him, ignoring the biting touch of the cold as he circled their rental to the back. Silently thanking home-economics class for giving him the ability to sew a super warm hench-coat, he knelt to the ground next to the obviously stuck tire. Brushing some snow away, he quickly assessed how long it’d take to get out, craving to be inside with every second.

Climbing back up, he pressed his weight onto the trunk, shoving his shoulder against the cold metal. His boots sunk into the snow, holding him down as he tried to move the car forward.

“C’mon…”

Watching from the side mirror, the Monarch turned the heater on full blast. It’s not like any of this was his fault, that he’d forgotten the approaching date of Christmas - it had nothing to do with his consuming hatred of Rusty. Suddenly remembering why they were in this situation to begin with, the Monarch undid his belt, using his lack of restriction to grab the shopping bag from the rear seat.

It housed his last minute gift, bought in a frenzy that had him shooting several other customers with darts until it was within his grasp. Slipping the small box out, he brushed his gloved thumb against the sapphire text of the expensive brand before popping the lid open.

Oh, he was getting sooo much points from his wife! He knew she’d love it, the thought left him giddy. 

“Boss!”

His smile dropped, expression annoyed when he shouted at the reflection of his henchman, “What?!”

Steam slithered from Gary’s mouth as he huffed, “I’m going to rock the car, I need you to steer!”

“You can’t?”

 Gary shot him a look,  _are you serious right now?_

“Fine!” He closed his wife’s gift, returning it to the bag, which was haphazardly tossed to the back. The Monarch swore loudly, climbing into the driver seat. His wings burst forward, catching on the leather. “Will you just…” Uncomfortably squished against the wheel, the Monarch hissed as he stuffed them back. He took the time to adjust the seating, though not to buckle himself in, already the heel of his boot was resting on the brake as his hand clutched around the gear lever.

The headlights cast the drifting snowflakes in a golden hue, near impossible to notice amongst the rapid entrance of night. Spun in dark blues border-lining black and the grey of sleet, it made their position on the side of the road, and the parking lot behind them even more desolate.

With a determined grunt, Gary surged forward. He swung the stout form of the car to and fro, teeth chattering as he threw all of his strength behind it.

The Monarch grit his teeth, moonlight glinting off of his snarl.  With a flick of his wrist he brought the lever down, slamming his foot onto the gas until the sheer power of their car - a 1990 Ford Taurus, thundered.  ~~Which obviously isn’t a lot~~

“Go! I command you!” He shouted, willing their scrap-pile to do anything meaningful. Chorused by the sound of the crunching snow, the heaving metal groaned as it broke free. Sending a spray of chunks of ice in its wake, it leapt forward.

Laughing with his victory, the Monarch pulled over. Oblivious that Henchman 21-of-1 had to peel his face off of the ground, absently wiping snow off. 

Gary took a moment, his clothing becoming wet the longer he stayed kneeling. His eyes rose, trained senses prickling at the noisy sound drawing close. The point on a pair of shoes entered his line of vision, eventually disappearing as his stare trailed up the slender length of legs and finally landed on his leader’s amused gaze. Monarch having his hands on his hips, smirked at the image before him. 

The skin on Gary’s face tingled, caused by the colliding sensation of his flushed state mixing with the numbed planes of his expression. Doused in embarrassment, he came to stand onto his feet, posture subconsciously slouching. “Dude, what?”

The Monarch shrugged, “Oh, nothing. I was just admiring your rightful place - bowing before me.” His smirk deepened when the brow of his loyal henchman furrowed. There was a million things Gary wanted to say, but his conflicting confusion held him back.

“We should get going…” he mumbled, walking around his primary. He couldn’t help but notice the awkward tension as he got behind the wheel, or maybe that was just him. One thing was for sure, Gary was tense as he started to drive, completely unable to shake the feeling of the Monarch’s eyes on him.

It was like he was pulling some Jedi mind-reading shit… Okay, the Monarch was definitely more of a Sith, but the sentiment was the same. What made it all the more worse was the persisting silence, it was a stretch in time that allowed Gary’s mind to conjure up their inevitable conversation.

_“So what was all that?”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he’d say, even though they both knew the truth. That his idolization had turned into this weird crush, one of the direct causes of his frequent sleepless nights._

_“Right, because that was normal. The way you freaked out like some new recruit.”_

_“Look, I don’t know what you want from me.”_

_In one of his more hopeful fantasies, on the spectrum of make-believe, the Monarch would reciprocate his feelings. Even now as he drove, the man beside him would lean close, voice dropping as he said, “Don’t try to be coy, Henchman 21.” The Monarch’s hand would move to his lap, squeezing his thigh as he whispered, “You’re a terrible lia_ – Hey! What are you doing?!”

“Wha-” Gary snapped out of his reverie.

“You just passed the house!”

“S-shit, I’m sorry” he stuttered, checking over his shoulder for upcoming cars before he did an illegal U-turn, knocking one of their neighbour’s recycling bins over. Nerves set ablaze, he hurriedly pulled into the driveway. 

Grumbling under his breath about being late, the Monarch unlatched his seat belt, unaware that his wings stabbed Gary in the eye as he grabbed the present from the back. Grasping the bag, he got out of the car. The door was slammed behind him as he crossed the snow covered lawn.

His shoe had just touched the first step when he was blinded by sudden light. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch stood in the doorway, dressed in one her robes. Outlined in the glow of the hall, she looked absolutely pissed.

The Monarch froze, but he soon recovered. “H-hi, honey. I was just helping Hench–” His wife’s glare worsened. “I, um..” his gaze darted to the side, fishing a hand in the bag “…Merry Christmas…?”

Sheila sighed, unable to stop her face from softening at the sight of her gift. Rolling her eyes, she stepped to the side, “Hurry up, you’re letting all of the heat out.”

With a toothy grin, the Monarch bridged the distance to scoop his wife into a hug. Cold nose pressed into her throat as he peppered his deep-voiced beauty with kisses, completely ignorant when Gary lumbered his way past them and inside.

One eye burning, he unbuttoned his coat and hung it on the rack before heading upstairs. Festive season or not, he just didn’t have the patience for the pair. His footsteps were loud against the wooden floorboards, the only reminder that someone else lived in the house. Sighing when he opened his bedroom, empty as always, he made a beeline for his bed. Not bothering to unlace his boots as he flopped down, the goggles of his mask digging into his sockets as his face pressed into his pillow.

It was an another hour before he fell asleep, constantly distracted by the sounds coming from down the corridor.

* * *

_gary…Gary…Gary…_

“Gary!”

His body shot forward. “What, what is it?”

Leaning over him was Dr. Mrs., still dressed in her robes. The apparent lack of harm did little to set Gary at ease, already he was sliding out of bed. Motioning for her to stay quiet, he moved her behind him. Besides the muffled sound of his footsteps, everything was still in the house. He barrel rolled to the door - gripping the frame, he cocked his head to the side.

“Gary, what are you doing?”

Not hearing anything down the hall, Gary turned back to his primary. “I don’t hear anyone on this floor, so we have time. I’ll surprise attack them while you find an ex–”

“ _Gary_. I didn’t wake you up because we’re under attack.” Dr. Mrs. The Monarch tsked, “Besides, it’s not like the Blue Morpho has the nerve to show his face again.”

“I.. uh” A small amount of tension evaporated from him, “You didn’t…?”

“No,” she flashed him a comforting smile “I woke you up because it’s Christmas morning.”

His brows knitted together, “I don’t understand.”

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch steered him around, ushering her tired henchman out of the room, and to the main floor. 

Gary was still having a hard time processing everything, and the sudden curse coming from the kitchen wasn’t helping matters. Dr. Mrs. squeezed his shoulders,  _calm down_. And despite his instinct telling him to be constantly on guard, he found himself relaxing in the gently firm hold.

“Pookums!” The Monarch called out.

“Yes?” She huskily drawled in his ear, inadvertently sending a shiver down Gary’s spine.

“The eggs are done!”

“Thank you, sweetheart!” Moving to the living room, she shoved her captive onto the couch. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

With that order, he could do little but sigh - resting on his folded elbow as he patiently waited. Another minute passed, filled with the wafting sound of hissing. Half a second later, the Monarch strolled into the room, casually sipping from a coffee mug. His bandaged hand had Gary raising a brow, noticing his stare, the Monarch sniffed loudly.

“Is that from the eggs?”

“No, it’s from our piece of junk frying pan.” The Monarch glared, “I burnt my hand.”

“That ‘piece of junk’ was a wedding gift.“ 

His scathing reply was turned into a mumble, docile when his wife kissed the corner of his mouth. Padding over to Gary, she handed him one of the coffee mugs she held. 

"Thanks. Is one of you going to tell me what’s going on, or…?”

The Monarch frowned, “Well,  _excuse me_. Who pissed in your cornflakes?” His wife slapped his chest.

“Look, Gary. I understand this time of year is hard for you, especially when your best friend isn’t around. Which is why we’re so grateful that you’ve stuck with us after everything. Right, Monarch?”

“…Yeah” he frowned, wincing at the second smack. “Why are we even saying this? He knows he’s my… _our_ ….”

There was a dip in noise, and in that moment Gary watched as the Monarch coughed into the sleeve of his robe, face unnaturally flushed. “Just give him his gift, my breakfast is getting cold!”

Between their daily lives, no one had the patience to set up a tree. What little presents that were bought were placed in the corner, one of which being a small slender box wrapped in red paper. In it was a silver necklace, the pendant shaped as a butterfly. It was all sharp angles, the same on the Monarch’s chest plate. Already Gary was putting it on, his eagerness causing him to fumble with the latch. 

“Thank you” died on his lips, mind blank as Dr. Mrs. The Monarch’s face moved in a few inches from his. Turning the piece of metal around in her hand, she smiled. “It looks good, like it belongs there."  _Like you belong here._

"I… I didn’t get you anything…”

“That’s not the point” she tucked it into his uniform, the feathery touch leaving behind embers. “And your company is more than enough of a gift” she added, winking over her shoulder when she went to get herself some food.

Still reeling from her words, Gary rose a brow when the Monarch sat beside him, arm casually thrown around the back. Confident that his wife was busy and unable to hear them, he brought his mouth close to Gary’s ear, whispering “Just make sure to buy me something for New Years.”

“I… Deal.”


End file.
